#AmericanWriters
Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,
The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…
I married you for all the wrong re… charmed by your dangerous family h… by the innocent muscles, bulging l… weapons under your shirt, by your… the colors of painted scraps of su…
Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal
We invent our gods the way the Greeks did, in our own image’but magnified. Athena, the very mother of wisdom, squabbled with Poseidon
1. THE SACRIFICE On this tile the knife like a sickle-moon hangs in the painted air
My husband gives me an A for last night’s supper, an incomplete for my ironing, a B plus in bed. My son says I am average,
Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their
Pierre Bonnard would enter the museum with a tube of paint in his pocket and a sable brush. Then violating the sanctity of one of his own frames
The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light
What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book
It was early May, I think a moment of lilac or dogwood when so many promises are made it hardly matters if a few are bro… My mother and father still hovered
I am only leaving you for a handful of days but it feels as thought i will be gone forever the way the door closes
January Contorted by wind, mere armatures for ice or snow, the trees resolve to endure for now,